Only Human
by BellasInitials
Summary: Set after Third movie. Jean is long gone and emotions are running high. Logan is at war with himself over what he should be and who he is, while Rogue tries adjusting to her "cured" body. When the two clash, it turns out the 'cure' doesn't cure all...


"Only Human"

A/N: I own nothing.

Rated _M_ for language and sexual themes.

Desire.

Want.

Lust.

Human emotion.

Whether described as passion for intimacy or a passion for something granted as a natural right, simplicities as a hug or the brief contact could be desired.

Many saw simple relationships as simpler than God-Given. The relationship of family, of friendship, of a lover, and of a perfect stranger. To be closer to someone- the idea of the complexity of relationships were not foreign to Logan. Logan tried to be objective about things, but some (most) ideals were too much trouble.

Emotions were a large part of life, for so many. Keeping emotion at bay became the (known) story of Logan's life. Emotions caused rash decisions.

Emotions caused pain.

_Chapter One_

The cold air of the night was relentless, whipping against Logan's face. It was comforting and familiar to Logan, the edge of danger, the roar of the engine beneath him, the way it rumbled as a beast, continuously growling. They shared a likeness he would never admit aloud.

The roads twist and turns were new to him though; he hadn't stopped in miles at the least. The sounds and scents of a local bar slowly (but quite steadily) grew louder. It would be his next destination. He needed beer. Good, Canadian beer.

Though he couldn't quite drown his sorrows (from what he could tell, it was nearly impossible), the buzz that coursed through his body from the brew was comforting. Human. He felt more at ease in an environment like he was quickly approaching. The faceless women of the night, the scent (stench rather) of a seedy bar, and the occasional brawl.

Tonight, he would just be another stranger at the bar. Not even Logan. He hadn't felt like Logan for, well, longer than he was comfortable with. But not even that could stop him from having a cigar.

There was nothing special about his cigars; they were damn cheap and easy to come by. By any means, it was just another he couldn't seem to let go of.

Like Jean.

He had seen her life leave her eyes as his claws sunk in. Part of him died with her then, he felt a part of him seem to leave. Whether it was simply the first person he allowed himself to _want _to be close to her, closer than he had been to anyone. But it was too simple now. _He_ had killed her, the woman he was willing to die for. He was no better than an animal- he had lived based on survival alone, like an animal, for as long as he could remember (admittedly not long considering his lack of aging).

Jean had (by his own fault), become his object of affection (affection was loosely used, as they had not touched unless he had nearly forced himself upon her. Though she never denied his actions.), more of a hopeful thought of lust and love than anything else. She had been undeniably gorgeous, red hair, long legs, and an attitude than caught him off guard a multitude of times.

In other words, he had been hopelessly infatuated with her. It was like reliving teen years… without knowing what they felt like in the first place.

It was all so confusing, having little experience to reference back to, concerning his past. The professor was long gone with Jean, the school left in the very capable (and attractive) hands of Ororo.

But Logan pushed the self-loathing and pity aside (for now). The comforting buzz settled with him, allowing himself to relax again. He smiled tightly at the thought.

He downed his first pint, the buzz already beginning to wear off as he signaled the bartender for another.

There would be a long night ahead of him.

***…***

Logan came across as being extremely selfish to others, especially those who knew him well (enough) to see through the relatively odd life he led. Logan had made a choice, like all people did, but his was uncertain, even to him. He knew that he could be an arrogant ass… at many times, but he also understood that the consequences ahead were ones he would rather avoid than face head-on.

Logan knew he hadn't thought through much of anything. He left behind one person who he would miss as greatly (if not more so) than they missed him. And he was more of an ass for knowing so. But he had left, again. To escape himself, others, and memories of a time lost.

Marie was whom he had left. Rogue never fit her deposition, Logan decided. Marie was a rather quiet girl, never caused trouble or commotion of any sort other than by accident. Her southern twang was undeniably adorable, and so very… _feminine_.

So very… opposite of himself.

But even now, as he woke with a start to a new day, he hurt. Not literally, as he was seemingly indestructible, and while he felt the pain, he knew it wasn't from any would that could be inflicted by another. His way of coping seemed to only hurt himself further, _emotionally_.

The thought alone disgusted him. When had he turned into such a damn pussy?

Standing up, he tugged on a pair of (most likely dirtied) jeans and wifebeater. He was already running low on cash from lack of work and money 'spent' on booze. He used the word spent loosely. He knew that the way he drunk beer like it was water was going to eat straight through his wallet eventually. But that didn't bother him as much- it was the fact that he honestly didn't want to earn the money.

While he knew he basically cheated people out of their money in cage fighting, the thought alone of doing it at the moment bothered him more than he was willing to admit. Logan pushed aside the small fact that because it had bothered Marie it bothered him.

_Fuck it all_, he thought angrily as he stalked to the sink in the tiny bathroom of an unnamed motel room. His face hadn't changed a bit. He hadn't expected it to, but he couldn't help but wish, than in sometime in the past few weeks he had changed externally.

Become more human.

He looked away in disgust. He was disgusted with himself. He would even say his _kind_, growling as he gripped the edge of the sink tightly.

But no, he admired some of the people he knew, the mutants. They had lived and coped, adapting to the rapidly changing society. Why couldn't he? He was damn-near indestructible and had lived for longer than he could keep track of! Why couldn't he just… '_fit in'_? He felt outcasted more than he ever had now. Few knew his pain, and those who did were… unreliable.

Weeks passed as he drifted, stopping only for gas and beer/nourishment as the weather grew undeniably colder. He would never fall ill. His body could take the abuse he threw at himself daily now. The self-loathing was emotionally draining. The weather was even physically draining. He knew that at one point or another, he'd turn around and give up. He was weak. He'd go back to the only place he had been accepted. But it would never be quite the same.

***…***

Rogue sat silently. The gloves were off- literally. She had been broken. She felt ashamed and bitter at being herself. But she couldn't deny this. Her boyfriend couldn't touch her for longer than a few seconds, and she had to deny herself physical contact with anyone. There had been countless nights when she wondered to herself how it felt… to feel someone else. Without the pain, the guilt or the anguish.

She had met Wolverine, of course, the man who had been… different. He was the one who brought her to realize she was very far from being alone in the world she had once outcast herself from. But it was only now that she briefly wondered if she had made the right choice. She had gotten the 'cure'. Surely as it said, she was allowed the grace of feel, of understanding of how very important human contact truly was.

She remembered returning that day, to see (feel) everyone.

She had walked directly up to bobby, her personal iceman, with her arms and hands bare. His eyes had widened at her state of dress- what was she thinking?

Raising her hand softly, she cupped the side of his face, met with surprising appeal of the feeling of his rather… smooth face. She opted for no opinion on that matter. Bobby had shown no signs of distress… Could she truly have been cured? Was she granted the allowance of touch out of pity, or something else? Did it matter?

She chose the later, as the look of astonishment in Bobby's eyes spoke clearly as day for her. It was worth it, this new life she could live. Without covering up, nor ever truly hiding to fit in. She felt… almost _human_.

She kissed Bobby for what seemed to be hours but truly disappeared in seconds.

It was exhilarating.

***…***

A/N: Short first chappie… Please R&R, I'm still relatively new…

Roses are red, violets are blue,

Here's a teaser, for a review!


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